


A Lesson in Space

by Elizabeth1985



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Anal Sex, M/M, Outer Space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor wants to meet the great Sherlock Holmes but is disappointed in what he finds. Sherlock on the other hand finds the Doctor to be quite interesting. They end up finding what they both need in the end: each other.<br/>Quote from Chapter 2 is from Harry Potter</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Who are you?" The man in the long coat looks at him with blatant annoyance.

The Doctor is positively beside himself. Here, in front of him, stands none other than the Sherlock Holmes.

"I'm the Doctor." He replies. His grin is impossibly bright on his face, while he looks the great detective up and down.

"So what's the crime then? Tell me the story!" The Doctor exclaims, eager to witness the brilliance first hand.

"It's quite simple actually. The woman was killed by her husband because she'd left him for a woman. Rather boring." Says Sherlock casually, leaving the Doctor gaping at the lack of dazzling exclamations of discovery.

Sherlock straightens from his crouch in front of the body that is draped over the chair. The Doctor is disappointed and his smile fades from his features.

"Of course, of course." The Doctor replies dejectedly in response. Though he'd as well seen the signs, being quite handy at deduction and observation himself, he had been secretly hoping for the great man himself to walk him through all those details. To hear the words from his mouth.

"What do you mean, 'of course'?" Sherlock asks defensively. "No one ever says that, why would they? That would presume they too arrived at the same conclusion, which they never do." He concludes with great certainty.

Sherlock is starting to look at the Doctor suspiciously, suddenly growing too curious about his presence. The Doctor coughs to break the silence and shrugs his shoulders as a response.

"What are you doing here then? You are not a cop -that much I can tell. Though I…" Sherlock's features twist with irritated confusion and his eyes squint and flit around in his eye sockets repeatedly scanning the Doctor and all that he might gather. The Doctor knows it won't be much but he's curious to hear the deductions all the same.

"You look young but the expressions you carry hold more weight than they should for your apparent age. You dress unlike other men of your age as well. Your hands in your pockets either say you are nervous and self-conscious or blistering with energy and have no idea how to restrain yourself. By your constant shifting of position and the way you remove your hands and then place them back when the fidgeting becomes too noticeable points to the latter. You behave with slight nervous tendencies, and yet your claims have a touch of arrogance. You're smart and effective, but are terrified of what you're capable of, always just holding yourself back. You hate staying still, probably explains the running shoes with a suit – which looks terribly ridiculous, if I might add." Sherlock huffs in annoyance. "With all that though, you're are still somewhat of a mystery and it intrigues me." The detectives mouth pulls into a hard line then as he continues: "It also irritates me. Do you work for Mycroft? Or worse, one of Moriarty's lackeys perhaps?" He adds dryly.

Sherlock leans forward at the hips and squints once again as if trying to read him more closely.

"You are a mass of contradictions with no real evidence of substance." He surmises vaguely.

The Doctor practically jumps back when Sherlock crosses the length of the room in three quick strides and is suddenly inches from the Doctor's face.

The Doctor hadn't made a peep throughout all this. He hadn't expected such… accuracy.

"Who are you?" The detective asks again menacingly. Those sharp blue eyes so close to his own.

"Weelll.. Like I said, I'm the Doctor. I travel around and see things, help things along, ya know." He leans back on his heels slightly. That Mr. Holmes is quite inside his personal space and the Doctor is beginning to find it a little uncomfortable.

"No worries though, don't work for anyone but myself... err… that's not to say I am here to annoy you on a personal vendetta of any kind. Just wanted to see the great man work." The Doctor stretches his lips in a flat expression. All he wants to do is go back to the Tardis. A feeling of deflation is shrinking his frame. This is not one of his best ideas, the Doctor realizes.

"The Doctor? A name perhaps?" Sherlock presses, not budging from his closeness of the Doctor.

"That is my name." The briefest of shadows must have crossed his face as he spoke because Sherlock's brow is raised, suspecting the lie. Though not a lie, just an obstruction of the truth, the Doctor reasons with himself.

"Anyway, I should be off." His excitement at meeting the great detective has retreated as swiftly as the detective laid out the deductions. The Doctor does not want to be deduced. He can't stand the idea of someone pointing out his faults; the things he's done. The immense guilt that he drags along side himself everywhere he goes.

He side-steps the detective and tries to leave but Sherlock moves as well, placing himself once again inside his personal space.

"Don't like getting too close to people do you?" Sherlock asks, his thoughts spot on with the Doctors inherent fears. The Doctor, refusing to reply, keeps his stare level.

"It's okay," Sherlock continues, "neither do I."

With that he moves out of the way and the Doctor is finally free to leave and yet his eyes can't seem to look away from the man in front of him. Both slaves to their minds, and forever alone. The Doctor wonders if there is solace for men like them.

"Nice meeting you." The Doctor says solemnly as he walks out of the crime scene and across the street to the park where his Tardis is parked along the pedestrian pathway.

He opens the door slowly and walks a few feet inside before stopping. The Doctor drops his hands to his sides and decides that for once in his whole crazy existence, and since he is alone, he is going to spend the night relaxing around the Tardis and thinking about his life, and his happiness.

His encounter with the great Sherlock Holmes has left him raw. He doesn't understand why it is affecting him so much. The Doctor feels exposed and can't seem to put up the armor he normally shields himself with.

A few hours have passed and the Doctor is sitting on the jump seat, his feet crossed at the ankles, propped on the console. He's humming loudly to himself when a loud, insistent knock at the door startles him so violently he almost falls off the seat.

"What?" He asks aloud to himself. He is not expecting anyone. No one even knows he's here.

Welll….. that is not entirely true, he reminds himself.

One look at the home screen and he sees "the great one" standing in the cold, collar turned up, scarf wrapped around that pale neck.

The great detective speaks: "I am sure it is rather uncomfortable, and though I have no idea how you've managed to securely lock this blasted thing, I do know that you are in fact inside." The detectives voice travels through the Tardis and the Doctor is wrestling with the idea of completely ignoring the man or giving in to the subtle temptation to try and persuade him into being his new companion. Has he ever had just a bloke? A pal of sorts to travel with? He can't recall.

Weeeelllllllll! That settles it then. The Doctor rushes up the ramp to open the doors.

Bollocks! It's freezing, thinks Sherlock. Why won't the bloody idiot just open the damn door!

Sherlock saw the man leave and decided to follow him, worried of course that he might be working for Moriarty. Sherlock was not expecting to find foot prints disappearing into the vintage police box. He had spent considerable time in his mind palace the past couple hours trying to fit the pieces of the man together along with this new strange occurrence.

Suddenly the door flies open and the Doctor, as he calls himself, appears. He is as bright-eyed as he was when he'd first arrived at the crime scene. Though Sherlock remembers that the look faded rather quickly. Was it the crime? He wonders. No, the man was disappointed not disgusted, he recalls. And not with the crime either, the evident disappointment only occurred after Sherlock had spoken. Perhaps it was him. How could I have possibly disappointed someone within seconds of meeting them? Sherlock frowns but is otherwise unaffected by the observation.

The Doctor steps out and shuts the door behind him. "Ya know, was just making a call." The Doctor says innocently while looking up at the sky.

Sherlock grunts in irritation. People are horrid liars.

"This Police Box does not work; there are no telephone wires below ground here; and what's more -you were in there for two hours and I have been out here the same amount of time and no sounds came out of it. Try again." Sherlock tempts.

This man is a mystery that must be solved.

"I.. uhh.. was on my cell phone. Texting." The Doctor replies.

"What are you hiding? Let me in there." Sherlock tries to push past the man in front of him but the Doctor's head finally snaps in his direction and the look Sherlock sees is fierce. The Doctor is very possessive of this stupid phone box. Why? What could be in this small box that is so important?

They continue staring at each other when the Doctor finally says something worth saying. It intrigues Sherlock ever more.

"Does it ever bother you?" The man asks in a faraway voice, and though the what is not indicated, Sherlock of course knows exactly what he is referring to since he can tell this man is somewhat like himself.

"There are ways to ease the chaos, if one is so inclined." He responds. The thought of getting some product and organizing his mind calmly was calling to him. It was that need that had brought him to the boring crime scene to begin with. Sherlock normally wouldn't have bothered for something so futile and obvious but he'd needed a distraction.

"Ridiculous!" Cries the Doctor. "How can you people treat your fragile bodies so badly? Your methods are well known to me Mr. Holmes and while I may find myself occasionally trapped inside my mind, I surely would never degrade myself with drugs." The Doctor is protective of whatever he means by 'people'. Sherlock finds this curious.

Of course, he cannot be referring to Britain's or Caucasians, as he is both, Sherlock reasons. I, therefore must be within the group of 'people' to which he is not.

Drug users. Yes. That must be it, he concludes.

"In that case, I have no other means of ease for you then." Sherlock responds.

Both men are now standing side by side, leaning against the Blue Box observing the sky.

"Company." The Doctor reflects quietly. "Company helps." Then without warning, the man quickly jumps in front of him and grabs his shoulders.

"...And adventures!" He exclaims, pushing Sherlock against the door. The Doctor must have reached behind him somehow because Sherlock finds himself falling into an open space.

He reaches behind himself and manages to brace the fall with his hands, as they land firmly on … metal grate?

Why and, more importantly, how is he on a metal grate inside a two-by-two police box?

Sherlock's eyes blink furiously as a bright light comes on. The moment his eyes begin to adjust his mouth drops. His tongue and inner cheek feel dry and he tries to swallow. His brain is momentarily stumped; which is shocking enough on it's own.

A few sparks sputter inside his brain as it restarts. And then the observations fly: buttons, levers, a seat – transportation? Large interior space, metal, other odd substances, foreign metals. Must remember to study foreign metals. Large cylindrical tube? The space, the space is the conundrum. Mirrors! Aha. Yes it must be. Of course. An optical illusion.

Sherlock stands purposefully and notices the Doctor is apparently standing several feet away. Impossible. Also an illusion.

"Nice magic trick." Sherlock smirks. "I've seen better."

"Oh you haven't seen nothin' yet!" the Doctor challenges. One hand cranks a lever, while the other smashes a large red button theatrically.

The police box is suddenly tilting and jolting! By God! They must be moving. Sherlock is thoroughly impressed at this point. He still fully believes it is a trick, for what else could it be? But it is a good trick nevertheless.

With a thud and a wheeze the box settles. Where could they be? Was the box moved somewhere, or simply shaken? Sherlock chuckles, surprising himself, since he has never had to ask himself so many questions and not been able to provide the answers.

"Please, Mr. Holmes, explain then the magic in this." The Doctor grins wickedly.

"I'd prefer if you'd call me Sherlock." The Doctor nods in acquiesce.

"Well, clearly the box has moved. Whether in place or to an alternate location, hard to tell. Regardless, can't have been more than several yards at most." He reasons.

"Ha! This is going to be brilliant!" The Doctor is laughing now and Sherlock begins to feel unnerved. Could he be wrong? No, improbable. He is hardly ever wrong.

The Doctor jogs lightly to the door, still chuckling to himself, and goes right past Sherlock. Immediately Sherlock knows his assumptions are off. His eyes were fixed on the movement from several feet away and he watched the entire sequence. He had believed this to be an illusion and yet… the inside of this box to his eyes is definitely bigger than the outside. But that is literally impossible.

If this is an illusion, it is an impossibly good one to be able to trick him.

"Before I open these doors, am I correct in saying that you find no use for the solar system, or the Universe to any degree, yeah?" The Doctors asks. There is mockery in his tone and Sherlock finds it rather irritating.

Why does everyone find the balls in the sky so bloody important?

"They have no bearing in my work and therefore do not take up space in my mind."

"I hope this will change your mind." The Doctor's smile is breath-taking. Which is a strange thought for Sherlock, but in fairness, he has never seen someone so excited… and strangely proud.

The door slowly opens. Revealed to his eyes is mostly blackness but with speckles here and there. Stars. To the right, he can see a giant gray ball that, even to his eyes, he can clearly see as the moon. To his left is… earth.

What is going on!?

Feeling like an idiot, but unable to stop himself, he places a foot outside the limits of the box and feels around. Not trusting his deductions that there must be ground, he refrains from stepping out with his full weight.

He bends his left leg while gripping the door and extends his dangling right foot out farther and begins tapping his toes around, trying to feel purchase against his sole. There isn't any to be found.

Sherlock practically falls out of the box when the man above him ceases to laugh silently and lets out the full guffaws that spread out into the void of space beyond them.

"You …look so….. ridic… ulous!" the Doctor squeaks out the words between laughing fits and is gripping the railing inside for support.

By this point Sherlock has resumed standing well inside the door.

The laughter dies down but with intermittent resurgences, for which the Doctor appears apologetic for.

Sherlock crosses his arms stiffly as the man's breathing returns to normal.

"Are you finished?" He asks through gritted teeth.

"Yes, yes. My apologies for that. Most people just say 'Wow!' or 'Amazing!'. You see it and still don't believe it." He says, evidently amused.

"Of course I don't believe it, its physiologically impossible. We would be dead." There was no way the man could argue that.

"Can you not think of any other alternatives?" The Doctor's eyebrows rise challengingly.

"No." Sherlock replies stubbornly. What is this man getting at? There are no other alternatives.

"May I have your hand please?" The man extends his arm, hand open, palm up as if he is asking Sherlock for a dance. Since Sherlock has never been so mystified in his life, he grasps the palm without hesitation, no idea where it will lead him.

The man's hand is relatively warm under his own which surprises Sherlock. The man is lean, like himself, and lean people normally have cooler extremities.

With a holding look, silently asking Sherlock to trust him, the Doctor places Sherlock's hand on his chest.

Sherlock can feel the soft material of the button down shirt; the silky touch of the tie; the rougher, thicker edges of the suit jacket and before he can ask what the reason for this whole maneuver is, he feels it.

More accurately… he feels them.

Hearts. Two of them. There is no mistaking it as he is well educated in human biology. He can feel the warmth of the skin beneath the shirt. The continual thumping is distinctly beneath the skin.

The Doctor removes his hand that was just on top of Sherlock's, as if he knows there is no way Sherlock will move now.

Sherlock presses harder and moves his hand slightly one way and then another while maintaining firm contact on the man's chest. He looks into the Doctor's blue hesitant eyes and just stares.

Sherlock is bewildered. A biological anomaly? He asks himself.

Sherlock switches into full examination mode. Using both his hands, he grabs the man's head and turns it this way and that, ignoring the words coming out of the head.

"What are you-" Turn to the right.

"-doing?!" Turn to the left.

Illiciting a strangled cry from the Doctor, Sherlock pulls the man forward – idiot probably thinks I'm going to kiss him – and sniffs his neck, hair, and wrists. He tries to find anything out of the ordinary to go along with the twin hearts.

And as a finale to his inquiry since he is becoming more and more intrigued, he starts running his palms all over the foreigners body. Sherlock concludes that he is most definitely foreign despite the English accent.

"Whoa! Whoa there! Okay, now I get that you are confused, and perhaps, knowing your methods I should have anticipated this, but –Ahh! Get away from there –" The Doctor swats at Sherlock's hand that accidentally grazed the Doctor's crotch, "Would you stop?!" He yells.

Sherlock straightens in bewilderment. "What's the problem?"

"Problem?! You come on my Tardis and start puttin' your hands all over me like your trying to put some sort of of puzzle together. Bit rude don't ya think?" The Doctor is angry and Sherlock is tempted to remind him that he had put Sherlock's hand on him in the first place.

It's not like he had done anything grossly inappropriate. Well... The graze was entirely accidental. Anyhow, if the man wouldn't have squirmed so much he could have finished his examination without any of those awkward mishaps.

"What are you?" Sherlock still has no answers but he knows for certain that this is not an ordinary man.

"For someone so brilliant, you're quite thick." The Doctor notes ironically.

"I am a Time Lord." Continues the foreigner. Sherlock still doesn't get it.

"Ugh… AL-I-EN." The Doctor clarifies with childlike emphasis.

"From which Country?" Sherlock has never met any foreigner with these attributes. Two hearts (biological anomaly?), optical illusions (magician, was he drugged?), Time Lord (odd fascination with time? Arrogant?).

Sherlock continues to ramble in his mind palace when the man known as the Doctor grips his head tightly and Sherlock is bombarded with images and knowledge beyond his imagination; even still – beyond his own intellectual capability. It's inconceivable and yet he knows it to be the truth. It's also utterly … amazing.

When the Doctor finally retreats, Sherlock falls against the railing of the walkway, breathing heavily and shaking.

"Do you understand now?" The Doctor asks him, sounding tired and drained.

"My God... Yes." Sherlock continues to pant but raises his eyes to meet the very old and very powerful Time Lord in front him. "Yes." He breathes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here is Chapter Two. The two men start their journey. The Doctor is trying to loosen up but not really succeeding. Sherlock is being a little flirty, secretly hoping this new Doctor might replace the previous one.

The Doctor continues to watch Sherlock, who has been sitting on the floor of the ramp for several minutes. His legs are bent loosely, slightly spread, and his arms are moving around in the air purposefully. The detective's eyes are open but clearly seeing something other than what is currently in front of him. The Doctor imagines this is the great man's method of sifting through the onslaught of information he's just been given.

The Doctor had only shown him a fraction of knowledge and memory; enough to convey the truth. He kept out thoughts of Gallifrey, the Time War, and… Rose.

The Doctor showed him planets, galaxies, some astrophysics; because showing the science of it all, he knew, would help the detective grasp the concept.

He's never had a companion quite like the man a few feet away. The others have always been eager and excitable. The quiet, rationale calm of Sherlock was so completely different. Maybe this is what he needed. The Doctor is always surrounded by chaos and normally he welcomes it. In fact, he searches for it.

So much running… all the time with the running.

Where to, though? What from? Well that last question is easily answered but he ignores it and thinks instead about where his life should be going, distinctly avoiding the thoughts of where he's been. The Doctor wants to save people but he needs to find peace for himself.

Especially after…Her.

It's always so hard to think her name. He winces at the memories of his pink and yellow human and her megawatt beautiful smile. The image of it sears in his brain with flashes of painful memories.

He needs to reorganize and prioritize his life this time around. Perhaps, if he had spent more time on his own happiness when she was still here, he wouldn't be so destroyed now that any chance of happiness has been ripped away.

Regrets, he has come to realize, are far worse than anything he's lived through in his nine-hundred years. He always detaches himself from any real connections; never giving into the things he truly wants.

The Doctor realizes that it's more than a want now. He needs someone. He needs true friends…and lovers. He needs more than simple companions. He has to force himself to see them as they are, as opposed to fleeting moments of contact along his timeline.

He's not sure if Sherlock will come with him but perhaps if he does, the Doctor will let loose. They can save planets, have regular good times, and just maybe become true friends. The Doctor realizes he needs to not be afraid to live anymore. Part of this, he knows, will involve him being more open to those he chooses as companions and that terrifies him. He knows he's opening himself up for more pain, but he pushes himself to believe that it will be worth it.

He starts running through where he should go next, somewhere with a pur-

His thoughts are interrupted by Sherlock's voice, asking him something but he'd completely tuned him out.

His head lifts up and tries to pick up what the detective is currently saying.

"… so infinite really. Such possibility. I would love to study some of these aliens." Sherlock looks expectantly at the Doctor, who is now completely offended. He is an alien and yet Sherlock is speaking as if he was some kind of animal to be studied. What nerve!

"They are people, you know? You say aliens like they're… like we're monsters." Very rarely he catches himself pretending he is human but it does happen. What a lie! He envies their vulnerability, their fragility, the strength of their emotions. The Doctor is none of those things. He is cold on the inside far too much to be human.

"Some are people. Some are monsters. This is what your thoughts showed me. Humans are just the same. I did not mean to offend." Sherlock responds without a hint of emotion nor apology. Regular people tend to apologize, but perhaps Sherlock is different. The Doctor isn't sure if this potential new companion will really be good for him or not.

"I am also very intrigued with the concept of time travel, we will have to discuss the specifics of your sentient ship and space relativity at some point. For now though," Sherlock clasps his hands together, "you have brought me here, what were your intentions? To bring me along as you have others?" Sherlock asks, cutting straight to the point.

"I thought… err.. I don't know. If you want?" The Doctor is hesitant. While it may sound crude, he's never spent significant time with someone so intellectually and emotionally comparable to himself, and that holds true despite the difference in species and experience.

It astonishes him and he respects the detective even more than before he met him. But whether the two can get along is really very questionable. How can he form better attachments to people with someone who doesn't normally form attachments to people? The two of them are quite the pair, that's for certain.

"If you think I am going to pass up this opportunity than clearly you are not as skilled at deduction as you believe yourself to be." Sherlock smirks at him and he smiles back shyly.

"It's settled then, I guess. Where… or when would you like to go?" He asks, giving the man free reign of time and space. Missions with purpose will wait for now. He wants to really show Sherlock the joy of space and time travel before they save something together. It seems he is taking the detective with him. This should be interesting.

"Your home." The detective says and the Doctors' hearts pick up their pace. Well... that was unexpected. He bloody well isn't going there. He can't help his immediate reaction. The pain is already closing around him.

"Not possible." He answers curtly.

"And why not?"

"Because it's… uhh… it's gone. We just can't." The Doctors head is down but his eyes remain on Sherlock. He rearranges his features into an expression that affects his resolve on the subject. Though technically the planet does exist for an extensive frame in time, it would be extremely dangerous to go back before fixed events take place. Not to mention the pain it would cause him to see it again.

"Fine then, I would like to see something extraordinary. Your choice, Doctor." Sherlock smiles at him but the gesture is a mask and the Doctor can see that while the subject of his homeland has been momentarily dropped, it is definitely not forgotten.

The Doctor silently curses himself, already unable to do the things he told himself he needed to do in order to live a better life. One without regrets. He reasons pitifully that there is no need to get into it now. The moment's gone.

He decides to show Sherlock the beginning. The first developments of the universe.

He turns around, faces the console and begins moving levers, buttons; setting coordinates both in space and time.

"Can I help?" Sherlock asks and the Doctor becomes defensive of his ship. What if he breaks it? There is a chiding hum in his head as the Tardis reminds him he is being petulant. Alright, alright.

"Fine, but only touch and press what I tell you to!" He says sharply.

"No accidental grazing of any kind then?" Sherlock says suggestively, reminding him of his being manhandled from earlier. Is Sherlock flirting with him? No… can't be. He's just imagining things. From everything he'd known about the man, it definitely did not seem like flirting to be something he would ever do.

"Not even a little. This girl is my… everything. My home." He clarifies. "There, that dial right there with the three orange circles on it – turn it about forty-five degrees to the left." Hopefully Sherlock is good at following instructions or they were going to have some serious issues.

Moments later, following some bumps and the tell-tale groan of the engine, they materialize just inside the first swirls of space dust and gas. All twirling around, pulling itself together. The Doctor casually walks past Sherlock, who is still gripping the console worried another jolt might send him flying, and opens the door.

His eyes never tire of the sight.

The Doctor embraces the feeling of serenity he experiences here. Being out in space, watching beginnings so magnificent as this, it humbles him. And that so rarely happens nowadays.

He feels Sherlock come up behind him but neither man speaks. The Doctor leans on the right side of the door frame, Sherlock following suit on the other.

"This is how it starts then." Sherlock's eyes seem a bit glazed and the Doctor wonders if he might just be amazed by it all.

Wait a tic…

"How did you know what we were seeing? I never told you. This cloud of dust, rock and gas could be anything." He is thoroughly surprised and his excitement at the genius of the famous detective renews.

"Well I wanted to see something amazing and I figured, with your arrogance and all, you would want to really impress me. Then, just now, by the way you were just looking at it as I walked up. It is the same way a mother observes her child moments after birth." He turns to the Doctor and rolls his eyes. "It's a very predictable choice." Sherlock's tone contains a hint of annoyance and the Doctor wonders if there is any appreciation there at all for what the Doctor has shown him.

"All the same," he continues, "I am glad you brought me here. This truly is amazing." His eyes hold the Doctors', and he lets his gratitude show through. "Honestly."

"You're welcome." The Doctor replies humbly, hands in his pockets as he continues to watch Sherlock, who resumes staring at the building of the universe.

Minutes seem to pass with little notice by the Doctor and before he realizes, an hour and a half has been spent silently watching the movement beyond them.

He hesitantly clears his throat to break the silence not wanting the abruptness of his voice to disturb the other man's thoughts.

"Somewhere a little more… interactive this time?" He asks with bated excitement.

"By all means!" Sherlock replies. A genuine smile breaks out across his features and the Doctor returns the gesture and makes his way back to the console, thinking of where to head to next.

Basilksaj? No… hunting season. Probably not wise. There was a planet called Murder, Sherlock might find that interesting considering what he does for a living. But it was really just a planet full of Crows though. Quite disturbing actually... so he reconsiders.

Sherlock watches fixedly as the Doctor obviously tries to think of the next stop on their adventure. The man's eyes are fixed on the ceiling as he paces. Sherlock is undeniably floored by what he has seen and tries not to let his excitement show. The life this man leads is so far beyond any great mystery he has solved thus far.

He is intrigued and a little surprised by the man himself as well. The Doctor seems so alone, he notes based on his observations after only a few hours. The feeling is certainly not foreign to Sherlock. Not that he would ever try to lessen that feeling by putting himself in the company of idiots. But this man is certainly no idiot.

There were only ever a few people that he truly enjoyed spending time with. His thoughts bringing a face to mind and he fondly thinks of John. No doubt John is somewhere, doing something with Mary, and who would certainly think Sherlock had lost his mind if he told him he was traveling through time and space with an alien who calls himself the Doctor. Ha!

Sherlock smirks shamelessly at the thought that with John married, Sherlock has found himself a new doctor. He ponders whether the end result will be different. He doesn't want to be left behind again. Not that he and John don't still spend time together, but there had been a time when Sherlock had thought things might evolve into something more. He had never been fond of relationships -still wasn't really. And, of course, what little sexual experiences he'd had were more like experiments than anything else. With John though, things had been different. Sherlock had craved Johns company, so much so that the fallacy of friendship he affirmed with John became his constant disguise. God, it had been so much more than that.

He would always wonder what would have happened if Moriarty had never come into the picture. But regrettably for his unspoken feelings, John got married. Is married, he reminds himself. He and John are still close but it's not quite the same. Sometimes Sherlock can see John sense the difference as well. It just a shadow that darkens his stare but Sherlock always notices. There is a sadness to it and it gives Sherlock a measure of peace to know that he may not have been entirely alone in his affections. Not that it matters now.

"A-ha!" The man across from him shouts triumphantly, bringing his palms together. "I've got it!" The impossibly bright grin displayed again. Sherlock feels the corners of his mouth turn up in response, but clamps down on it. The last time he fell for a Doctor ended… well the results were not to his preference, suffice to say, and it affected him more than he was comfortable admitting to anyone. He suspected Mycroft knew the truth but, wisely, his dear brother never spoke a word of it.

"So where are we headed then? Is this a purposeful trip?" Sherlock asks, wondering if they will find themselves in the types of situations he had seen in the Doctors mind. He is quite ready for some action. That is one of the things he needs in his life: action! Add in a little mystery and adventure for good measure.

"Ohh yes!" shouts the Doctor over the noise of the now traveling ship, ignoring the first question or perhaps he didn't hear it over the noise.

It never ceases to amaze Sherlock that for such an advanced piece of machinery… sentient machinery, he corrects himself, that there should be such discomfort during transport. All that shaking, whoorping noises, and groaning. He vaguely wonders whether the ship is perhaps considered a jalopy from where the Doctor is from. The moment the thought crosses his mind he is unexpectedly thrown to the side, slamming against the metal railing. The thrashing seemed quite intentional and Sherlock gives the ship a suspicious eye.

"Not sure what just went through your head, but my girl sure didn't like it." The Doctor comments with a smirk, looking in his direction. Sherlock readjusts his clothes and steps towards the Doctor as they seem to have reached their destination. The final patterned wheezing ceases, signalizing the end of their journey.

"So where have you taken me?" He asks.

"The land where dreams come true! Weellll…." The Doctor scrunches his face, "The land where dreams, and nightmares for that matter, have been coming true! And they really, really shouldn't be." He gives Sherlock an eyebrow wiggle insinuating the hint of unknown, likely dangerous, adventures.

"Ready Freddy?" The Doctor frowns. "Nope. That was weird. Never saying that again." The Doctor smiles again and Sherlock realizes that this man is a little barmy. Just like him on occasion, and so he smiles in return.

As they reach the door, the Doctor turns and starts unraveling Sherlock's scarf.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

That's his favourite scarf. Before the Doctor answers, he is removing Sherlock's long black coat as well. Sherlock shivers unexpectedly as the Doctor's hands move down his arms to pull the coat off and he doesn't bother spending the time analyzing that because he knows readily it has nothing to do with any change in temperature.

"This is not England; you would be sweating like a Sletheen in a body suit!" The Doctor explains, and Sherlock remembers the name Sletheen from the Doctor's thoughts. Right, he recalls, fatty aliens that take peoples bodies and frequently pass gas. He suspected some holes in the story, and wonder what the Doctor may have left out.

"No we wouldn't want that." He places his coat and scarf on the coat and umbrella rack by the door.

"Alright then!" The Doctor says while opening the door.

Outside the limits of the extraordinary Tardis, there is a smooth gray expanse framed by large cylindrical columns. Sherlock cannot tell if this is what the inside or outside looks like on this planet. There are many fluttering creatures in the area and little other notions of life, including any form of plant life. It seems mostly barren, and yet these little airborne species are flittering about like it is a bright sunny day in a meadow.

One darts close to him and his eyes split wide as he catches sight of what can only be described as a fairy! A tiny little humanoid type creature with wings and a tiny bit sparkly.

He reaches out to touch one when his arm is grabbed and pushed down by the Doctor.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He warns.

"Why not? What harm can they do?" He asks mildly annoyed at being told what to do.

"Because they don't belong here and we don't want to cause more problems for ourselves. These are Paxaloans. Tinkerbell from Peter Pan was based off of the princess of their ruling body. Her name was Tahnka."

They began walking through the dark gray expanse, hoping to find a gap in the space that could open up to something else.

After what seemed like a good half hour, both silent but occasionally looking at one another, Sherlock stops and points down a long corridor, where at the end he spots a bit of light. Any deviation from their gray enclosure is welcome at this point.

"Shall we?" He inquires of the Doctor.

"It's why we're here!" The man answers excitedly.

They continue walking another few moments and finally witness the opening at the end of the tunnel. Beyond this is a grand stretch of a City. Futuristic with lights, flying vehicles, unbelievably tall buildings, and …. What in the world? Sherlock is taken aback by the monstrous creature walking tall above the tallest building. Stomping and destroying along its path. Is that..?

"Is that what I think it is?" Sherlock asks in utter shock.

"Uhh… yeah that is not good. Nope. Really, really not good." The Doctor looks around himself as if he is expecting something beside him that might solve this right then and there.

"We need to find the source of this and fast." He starts running off towards the City and Sherlock runs along beside him.

Its several minutes before the reach the first beginnings of dwellings and Sherlock looks at his companion and notices that, like himself, the Doctor is also smiling, despite the impending danger.

Out of nowhere a black cloaked figure walks in front of their path and they are forced to halt hastily, their bodies lunging forward from the momentum of their run.

"Doctor, how nice to see you." The figures breathy, low steely voice cuts the air like a blade and Sherlock looks apprehensively at the Doctor who is smiling.

"Good to see you too!" The Doctor reaches up, smacking the cloaked figure on the shoulder. "What are you doing here old friend?"

"The same as, I expect, you are." The voice is skin-tightening and Sherlock can't recall such normal words accompanied by such a terrifying voice.

Just then a thunderous heat explodes above their heads, Sherlock hears cries in the distance, and the Doctor turns back to their new visitor. "What do you think is doing it?" He shouts over the noise.

To his left, a young couple runs to each other, folding their arms around one another and kissing with a curve in their postures as the man dips her and their kiss deepens. It's then that he notices the long purple tongues snaking out and his mouth turns in a frown. Gross.

There is chaos surrounding them now, their continued pace has brought them in the thick of it, the cloaked man has no opportunity to reply to the Doctor's question as a scaly, slimy thing wraps its three arms around the man's neck. Sherlock and the Doctor jointly reach up to grab at the thing and pull it off.

They make some progress and the thing is almost completely given up its grasp when wiry aliens or nightmare creations take hold of Sherlock and began prodding him with spear like fingers. He yelps and begins fighting them with all his strength. For such tiny builds, they have unnatural strength.

After quite a time, the three manage to fight and run their way through the outer limits of the City where they find a building that appears to be quite void of habitants. They rush inside, slamming the door and immediately pressing their backs against it. The Doctor whips out his sonic screwdriver, a light buzzing and click secures the door.

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." The Doctor quotes with a smile and though Sherlock recognizes the sentence, he has no reference for it in his mind palace. At the blank look on Sherlock's face, the Doctors mouth drops in astonishment.

"Nooo?!" His head cocks a bit to the side. "Really? You are a disgrace to England right now. You know that, yeah?" The Doctor smacks his hand on his forehead, shaking his head simultaneously.

Sherlock simply shrugs, unaffected.

"Okay. So if dreams and nightmares are coming true then there must be someone or something here with the power to infiltrate dreams, to make reality out of fantasy," the Doctor's voice trails away, mumbling away about psychic abilities and dream walking.

Sherlock is half listening, half taking note of the place around him and its differences from Earth. There is a strange smell in the air, a bit metallic. The floor is flat but seems more organic than man-made. The walls are extremely thick judging by the thickness of the door frame they passed through. The walls appear to be stone but have intricate patterns marked into them, whether this is a natural formation or a simple decorating application he doesn't know. Amidst his thoughts, he can still hear the world outside. It's a broken cacophony of screaming, whirring, and loud crashes. His observations have shown him that it appears more of their inhabitants are suffering from their nightmares than from more pleasurable dreams. Knowing what he does of human nature, he wonders if these aliens are much the same. Readily inclined to the negative notions as opposed to the positive; believing insults before compliments, nightmares before dreams, bad news instead of good news. It is really quite depressing, he muses. They should trust to facts more than they do.

Sherlock finds himself growing tired and wonders vaguely when the last time he had slept was. God, it must have been three days ago when the case with of the man with extra pinkie started, and that merged right into the woman who was murdered by her estranged husband… which had led to the Doctor, and now this.

The fatigue creeps through his body, stretching itself out to his limbs making them feel heavy. It is at this point that he realizes something is amiss. Never, absolutely never, has he felt this drowsy when immersed in something exciting. This feels drug-like – a feeling of which he is all too familiar.

"Doctor?" He looks up at the man, realizing that he has begun sliding down the wall. Something is definitely at work here.

"Sherlock! Oh…" the Doctor grabs him under his arms and props him up, "hmmm… seems you are being affected as well. Make sense of course. The thing needs people to dream in order to manifest the dreams…" the Doctor is off once again, pacing, and talking to himself.

Sherlock looks beside himself and sees the tall cloaked man slumped over a curve in a low wall separating two hallways.

His eyes begin to droop heavily. "Doctor…" He tries again.

"Yes! Right! Sorry then… Okay. Let's see!" The buzzing starts up again and other than a slight tingling, the sleep is still steadily pulling him under.

A hard slap to the face has his eyes blown wide and he straightens to look at the Doctor, who looks mildly irritated. The drowsiness is still there but he is momentarily stirred into wakefulness.

"C'mon now! Stay awake, we've got work to do! Must get to that; right there." He points, through a window, to a floating shape atop a large building that appears to be miles into the City center.

"I don't think I will be able to stay awake." He admits. His limbs already folding, dropping him like a stone. His eyes start to lose focus.

"I've got it… me and my brilliant mind." The Doctor smiles proudly at himself, but seems very far away. "Why don't you just dream that you are awake and coming with me to help? Wonderful!" he says, and stands as if waiting for Sherlock to do something.

"I don't think it works that way," he says, standing to look the Doctor in the eye.

"Riiight." The Doctor smiles. "Okay. Weeelllll, how about you just pick up your body over there and we'll get going then?" He says with a mocking tone.

Sherlock looks behind himself by sharply turning his back, and true enough, his body, crisp purple shirt and all is slumped on the ground. Oh!

"But… am I…" Sherlock can't think of way to put it and instead smacks the Doctor on the chest as an experiment.

"Oi! What was that for?!" The Doctor cries.

"Just checking if I was, you know, corporeal." He replies, sounding much too idiotic for his liking.

"Alright we need to get to the Oreon Consciousness and disable the Cerebral Projection Device. No idea what it looks like but stuff is usually labeled or I'm sure we'll find some big red button or something." The Doctor explains, sounding completely mad.

He aims the sonic at the door and looks back at Sherlock, "Try to stay on track, would you? If your dream shifts we could be in a world of trouble." He pauses, "…weeellll, more so than we already are anyway." He shrugs.

The Doctor grabs Sherlock's hand, who looks down at the connection with a raised eyebrow trying not to let his mouth turn up into a grin.

"So we don't lose each other." The Time Lord explains.

Of course. Sherlock tries not to get too excited and is reminded all too well of holding hands with John out of necessity.

The door is flung open and they race amidst zinging things, explosions, and nameless creatures in search of a big red button and though his situation seems wholly absurd, Sherlock feels alive and hopeful. More than he has in years. It's exhilarating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for the short chapter

The Doctor keeps his eye on Sherlock as they race through the City. There is a peculiar fog surrounding him as they make their progress and it takes him a while to place it. He realizes finally that in Sherlock's dream-like state, he is picturing his times running through London which is so frequently affected by mist, fog, and exhaust. Occasionally the Doctor hears strange sounds that can only be placed in London. It is familiar to him and he smiles when one of the distinct London sounds reaches his ears.

They are getting quite close now and he sees Sherlock halt, a look of shock on his face as he stares at something down an alleyway formed between two building structures. The alleyway resembles London, with cobble-stone surface and building architecture on its interior. The Doctor follows his gaze and sees two men running together, holding hands with their wrists joined in handcuffs.

He looks quizzically at Sherlock, the man's expression is one of longing and clouded pain. There is a note of surprise as well, as if he is shocked by what his dream state has brought to him.

The Doctor hates to ruin the reverie, but they really must continue. The City is falling down around them and there isn't much time before someone has a nightmare that could destroy them all.

"Sherlock…. We really must continue." He says softly, grabbing the man's arm and pulling him along. He contemplated grabbing his hand but based on the scene he'd just witnessed, thought better of it and settled on the arm.

"Yes…. Right. Of course. My apologies." Says Sherlock in a dejected way. His excitement from the danger and adventure has turned on him now and the smile has faded from his features.

The Doctor maintains his grip on Sherlock's arm, worried that potential thoughts might cause them further distraction from their goal. He hopes the tangible connection to reality will be enough.

As they round a corner, he sees images stretched out above him showing the creation of the universe, within the scene are flashes of his own face staring, in what can only be described as love and pride, and the magnificent scene. He looks briefly at Sherlock in surprise, but the man appears to be ignoring his errant brain wave wanderings. The Doctor is secretly thrilled to know that he'd obviously had some level of impact from their first stop.

They reach a mob of people, not aliens actually, but what appears to be humans, though he supposes he looks just as human as the next. They don't see a way around and try their best to push through, only several metres now from the building, whose roof holds the ship they must get to.

"Christ woman! Let go of me!" Shouts Sherlock beside him as he feels the man get pulled sharply away from him. He maintains his grip, but surges forward reluctantly. The woman grabs the detective and kissed him fervently, while the Doctor gapes at the image the two create, both tall and lean. To his surprise, Sherlock moves close and kisses the woman back, perhaps getting lost in his own dream state at the sensation.

These humans and their hormones, he thinks to himself, shaking his head in mild annoyance. He pulls on Sherlock once more and shouts at him over the noise, "Would you please remove your tongue from her mouth so that we can move on to… oh I don't know… saving the planet!"

Sherlock, startles, and turned back around, a reddish tinge on his cheeks and lips. "Umm.. That was unexpected." He says, while trying to hide a grin with the back of his hand.

The Doctor shakes his head again and mutters a low comment about humans.

The finally make it inside the building but it is unlike any other building he has seen. There are no stairs or elevators, nor does there appear to be any rooms… hmmm, very odd, he ponders. They look around, trying to find out how they can make it to the roof, when Sherlock calls him over to the back of the space.

"What are these?" He asks, pointing down to square protruding forms out from the floor. Only inches from the rest of the surface. The odd formations have a slight glow to them and beside them is a large metal rod.

"Brilliant!" The Doctor exclaims, jumping onto one of the square and gesturing Sherlock to do the same.

Once in place, Sherlock looks at him expectantly. "Now… don't move." The Doctor warns him.

He sonics the tip of the metal rod and the atmosphere changes instantly, gravity releasing its grip on the visitors to the building. They began ascending in the open air towards the roof, several storeys up.

Sherlock glances around himself with wide eyes and a peculiar grin. He looks childish almost, and the Doctor smiles at the sight, happy to see the amazement on someone so rarely surprised, or impressed by anything.

They emerge on a platform on top of the roof that had moments ago opened to let them pass through. Before them is an odd construct. It appears fluid, but has distinct sides, many, many sides. The Doctor has only seen one before. It isn't so much a ship as it is a brain. It is actually quite sentient like the Tardis. Where it picked up the Cerebral Projection Device, he hadn't a clue. They needed to get inside somehow.

He pulls Sherlock along beside him until they are standing no more than a foot away from a large flat expanse. Pulling out his sonic, he sets it to the setting reserved for opening doors and aims it at the ship. The panel shimmers, but otherwise remains the same.

"After you." The Doctor gestures to the man beside him who raises his eyebrows.

"And how exactly do you expect me to get in?" He asks, a bit of a tone added in that annoys the Doctor.

"Just walk right through… it should be passable now." He says, pushing Sherlock forward.

Sherlock tentatively places a hand on the moving surface and presses with an uncertain look back at the Doctor, who just smiles.

The hand disappears into the surface and Sherlock regains his arrogance and steps through quickly, the Doctor following immediately behind him.

Inside resembles parts of the Tardis but he instantly recognizes the distinct floating orbs, not attached to anything and knows exactly what they are and that terrifies him.

He can't fathom how they can be here! This is Time Lord science…. clearly having been manipulated to formulate reality from the construct of dreams. He'd been completely wrong in his original assumptions; this was not a Cerebral Projection Device… this is a Time Lord Atom Reorganizer, except… How!? This was not just manipulation of things and items, but organic components. In other words – people!

"Whaaat?!" He shouts aloud as he stares around himself. He runs to the central connection and makes the necessary adjustments. Thankfully, this set up is easier to dismantle since he is familiar with it but the realization does not ease his nerves about the discovery. Gallifrey is gone, there are no more Time Lords, there is no other Tardis in existence, so how could this be? He asks himself.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asks from behind him, while he shuts down the system with simply input equation.

"It's Gallifreyen." He replies, his tone clipped and harsh. Finally turning around to face Sherlock.

"That's where you are from, is it not?" The question more of a statement and the Doctor is, once again, subjected to the deductions of the detective and he frowns in annoyance.

"Yes, which just is not possible!" He walks briskly back towards the door, his thoughts spinning with possibilities both good and bad.

As they exit the ship and look around, the world is disturbingly silent. The Doctor turns to Sherlock and realizes the man has disappeared. Which makes sense of course, with the machine now shut down, it was only a matter of time before the atoms of the Sherlock-shaped construct dissipated.

He silently walks back to the building where he'd left his new friend slumped on the ground. The urge to leave this planet is terrifically strong inside of him. The Doctor is worried about what this means, but he doesn't want to explore it just yet. He's just found a new companion and decided to savour that. Move on to new things for now. If, and likely when, the need arises to face this concern, he will, but for now, he wants a normal life. Weelll… as normal as life can get anyway.

Upon retrieving Sherlock, and noting that his old acquaintance has departed, they make way back to the Tardis.

"It's gone then, I take it? Your planet, I mean." Sherlock watches him as he sets coordinates back in front of the console once again.

He holds his breath and plasters his eyes to what he's doing, "Yes." His voice quieter than he'd intended.

"I'm terribly sorry." Sherlock's hand comes to rest on his shoulder from behind him and he feels his twin hearts pick up their pace. The comfort of the single touch makes his skin tighten. The weight of that palm with its long slender fingers on his shoulder is really quite nice and it almost makes him forget what he was so upset about. Sherlock squeezes once before moving to the back of his neck giving it a momentary rub before pulling away.

The intimacy of the comfort ensures his complete avoidance of eye contact for the entire length of the travel. The trip only taking a few moments, but they each remain silence. Perhaps Sherlock is letting him think or simply be upset. He probably isn't considering that the Doctor is simply replaying the touch in his mind, the feeling of those fingers against the skin of his neck.

The Doctor wonders whether opening up to people is a good thing after all… maybe letting them in helps to dissolve the pain. He smiles to himself, thinking of their next adventure and hoping that it will bring him even closer to his new companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you enjoyed this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes charge following an encounter with Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it took me a while to post it. Also I didn't have a chance to really review so I hope it isn't too messy. Please review :).

Two weeks have passed since their first trip, or at least two weeks, it seems, for Sherlock. The concept of time has become a little fleeting when traveling to places so frequently or floating around in space. There's no real night and day, and the hours seem to pass rapidly.

Each adventure has turned out to be more exciting than the last and he finds himself growing closer to the man who calls himself 'the Doctor'. The two of them are so terribly similar, aren't they? Sherlock comments to himself. Both men consider themselves to be intellects, angling for adventure and excitement, and both of them loathe the concept of doing nothing for any indefinite period of time. Yes… they are rather the same. What has caused Sherlock some trouble though is how differently he finds himself acting around the Time Lord recently, especially compared to practically everyone else he's ever met, with the partial exception of John of course. Sherlock is normally so distant and cold, barely caring for the emotions of others. Lately though, and perhaps because the Doctor is himself much the same, Sherlock has found himself offering more compassion and consideration than he normally would otherwise. Somewhat filling the void that others normally would have filled. It would seem, he deduces, when two people, who normally avoid emotional connections including displays of affection, one will automatically compensate where normal people would have otherwise. Hmm.. Sherlock finds this interesting. He thinks back on his relationship with John and indeed the majority of that connection was established by John. John cared for him, did things for him, whereas Sherlock remained relatively detached. Though perhaps in seeing that as regret has now caused this change in his behaviour?

Sherlock's mind is a torrent of analysis regarding his recent personality adjustment. While he is not against this change, he's more than curious as to its cause. Maybe, he considers, it's not a direct causal relationship from one thing to another but rather a grouping of events and experiences that have led him to… oh let's say… initiate physical touching for the purpose of comforting someone. And in addition, not cringing from the thought of said touches, but instead experiencing a sense of excitement and anticipation of them.

Several days ago when they'd been on the run from some type of galactic human trading corporation, there had been a blonde woman that helped them get to relatively safety towards the end of their adventure. The Doctor had acted so peculiar around her, he recalls. They hadn't known each other, that was certain. The expressions and behaviours the Doctor employed in her presence suggested she reminded him of some past pain he'd experienced. He'd been upset and withdrawn the remainder of their time on that maze of a ship. When they'd finally made it back to the Tardis, returning to float along in the drift of space, he approached the Doctor tentatively. He wasn't one to comfort. In fact, he normally hated it. He also hated not knowing the reasons behind certain actions, and normally he would have pelted the Doctor with question after question, but instead he approached the man and pulled him into a tight hug because he knew that was what the Doctor needed. He never would have asked for it. No. Just like Sherlock, he avoided being comforted and he avoided having to open up. Were his reasons the same as Sherlock's? He wondered.

He settled for the embrace. It took several seconds but Sherlock felt the Doctor raise his arms and wrap them around his taller figure. The pressure was light at first, but as the embrace continued, the tightness increased until it was hard for Sherlock to breathe. Only then did the Doctor release his hold and move away, avoiding eye contact and not saying a word, to push some buttons and fiddle with the Tardis' controls. Sherlock suppressed the urge to snort, since by then he knew enough about the controls to know the Doctor wasn't doing bloody anything.

They hadn't spoken about the blonde woman since, and they certainly hadn't mentioned the hug.

Sherlock pulls out of his thoughts and returns to the present, looking around the living room that he has found himself in. He's been around the ship extensively and enjoys this room the most. There's always something in here that interests him: books, films, puzzles, and even, as he stumbled across two days ago, a laboratory of some kind in a room through the back. He supposes there had to be something like that in this ship, especially considering the man keeps calling himself the Doctor. Sherlock's incredibly active mind nags at him to press the 'real name' issue but something about the man hiding that name gives him pause and so he continuously holds himself back from the mystery of the Time Lord.

"Up for a trip?" The Doctor asks as he strides into the room, hands in his suit pockets, his body leaning against the jam of the door. Sherlock laughs suddenly, and the Doctor regards his outburst strangely.

"What?" He says looking down at himself as if he is expecting to be missing pants or something that might cause such a burst of laughter, seemingly out of nowhere. Sherlock continues to chuckle at the reason and finally stops to provide an explanation.

"You always wear the same suit and I was about to make fun of your lack of variety when it occurred to me how often I do the same." He said with a smile on his face.

"What would you suggest I wear then?" The Doctor asks with a complete lack of amusement.

"Well… something far more stylish at least. Let's go to the wardrobe room before we go anywhere." He says walking past the Doctor and taking a right and immediately finding a door that, despite not having been there before, he knows will take him directly to where he wants to go.

"So… you are going to dictate what I wear, then? Does that mean I can do the same for you, hmmm? You are always wearing those bloody fancy shirts and scarves… how about we dress you down this time?" He leans forward towards Sherlock, with a tilt to his head, looking him in the eye and waits for a response.

"Fine." Sherlock concedes reluctantly. "Though you know I have much better fashion sense than you so please do not choose something ridiculous." He pleads, worried the Doctor is going to dress him in a god-awful striped suit. Christ, looking around this room, the possibilities are cringe-worthy.

After a good half hour, they walk out and take a long look at one another. The Doctor is wearing crisp black dress pants and a dark purple dress shirt. Exactly something Sherlock would have chosen for himself and he finds the Doctor looks very… sexy in it. He managed to convince the Doctor to wear a nice leather jacket on top, and the overall impact is perfect.

In looking over himself, he frowns and raises his eyes to stare accusingly at the Doctor. "I look like a frat boy." He says disgustingly while gesturing to himself.

The loose jeans are low on his hips, and the white t-shirt is overlaid with a dark grey sweater that has a short zipper near the neck and a collar that comes a little ways up his neck. With his fair skin and mop of curly hair, he finds the look to be very young overall and hates it.

"Are you not comfortable?" The Doctor asks while giving him a once over… Actually make that a several times over. In fact, the Doctor hasn't ceased staring at his body since he'd come out of the changing room with the clothes on. Hmmm… maybe these clothes are worth it, he considers.

"Actually… yes. I am starting to enjoy their.. uhh.. effect, one might say." He says, tightening his smile in an effort to hide the smirk that threatens to expose itself.

There has been occasional flirting here and there, mostly by Sherlock, and the reactions the Doctor has are always amusing to him. Sometimes shy, avoidance of eye contact, fidgeting, silence… Sherlock concludes that the man is either very against sexual conduct of any kind, or is simply enticed by Sherlock and hasn't quite decided what to do about it. Sherlock assumes the latter since it is the more plausible scenario based on the Doctor's reactions to him. He decides to experiment further and up the calibre of flirting on this next adventure. He would very much like to see a different reaction at some point to compare his analysis. He smiles widely as they walk down the corridor to the console room.

The doors of the Tardis creek open and Sherlock's nose is filled with the heavy scent of smoke. He and the Doctor have covered their modern dress with long black cloaks and he is grateful for the extra layer as the air is crisp where they have arrived.

"Any guesses on where, and when, we are?" The Doctor is practically jumping with enthusiasm and like watching a child, Sherlock feels the building urge to grin at the sight of the man so excited but instead plays along and looks around gathering clues about their surroundings.

Cobble stone street, Georgian and Victorian architecture, candles in windows, torchlights illuminating the street. The distant tone of a voices has a definite British timbre.

"London, early 20th Century." He replies arrogantly.

"You are 99.9% correct!" The Doctor exclaims… "Can you guess what you're missing?"

Sherlock ponders some more and becomes irritated that he can't fathom what he could have overlooked.

"Apparently not." He said through gritted teeth.

"Welll…. This is not earth!" He says, throwing his arms out beside him, "It's like a parallel earth, some things just a bit different." The Doctor grins and Sherlock sees a particular glimmer in the Time Lord's eyes and he knows the Doctor is keeping something close to the chest on this one. He wants to pester but decides to wait it out.

They begin walking down the narrow darkened streets and come across a building with three times more lights than any other dwelling in the area. Hanging below windows, beside the main door, out in the street; there are even several carriages sitting in the street with lights donning them near the drivers seat. The horses are shuffling on the uneven ground, and the smell of them reaches Sherlock as they cross the street towards the building.

"Is this where we are going?" Sherlock asks, glancing at his companion.

"Indeed it is!" The Doctor replies, suddenly patting about his coat pockets in search of something.

"I assume we have an invitation?" Sherlock grins at the Doctor, knowing the psychic paper is in his left lower inside coat pocket.

His friend pauses in irritation, being unable to find what he is looking for. Sherlock sighs exasperatingly and reaches inside the mans coat, taking great care to brush the back of his hand against the Doctors chest and stomach as he moves his hand down to reach inside the pocket and pull out their 'invitiation'.

"Hoe did you ever function before me?" Sherlock mumbles under his breath as he walks briskly towards the door, psychic paper in hand. The Doctor had stilled under his actions moments before and was only now coming back to life and running up behind him.

"I would have found it." The man grumbles. Sherlock simply smiles.

The doorman alerted, opens the door and extends his hand towards Sherlock, "Invitiation, Sir?"

"Ahh yes, here you are." He presents the card to the doorman and says nothing of its contents. Sherlock finds it more exciting to learn the role he's been given after the fact.

"Sir Hallingworth and Dr. Earleston, please come in. It is rare that we have the company of such esteemed individuals. The rest of the guests are in the lounge." The man directs them to a grand room on the right down the corridor, and the inside the room are twenty or so well-dressed men and women.

"Hello, hello!" The Doctor greets loudly to the room. A man in a long coat throws his hands in the air in recognition, "Doctor! How great to see you!" The man crosses the large room in quick strides and grabs the Doctors hand between his own two, shaking it in a sincere gesture.

"It has been quite long! Never thought we'd see the likes of you again!" The smile upon the man's face and his general demeanour towards the Doctor sparks a tiny prick of jealousy within Sherlock. "And who is your friend here?" He asks, looking up at Sherlock.

"I'm She—" A hard slap on the back interrupts his words and the Doc tor continues for him.

"This is Sir Eric Hallingworth, a wealthy tradesmen in great favour to the Queen." The Doctor gives him a warning glance and Sherlock knows they need to remain in character but there is something about the insistence that makes him wonder what he is clearly missing.

"Sir Hallingworth, pleasure to make your acquaintance. How might you have come to know the great Doctor?" The man peers in towards him, as if expecting a great story – his eyes alight in anticipation.

"He arrived at my place of work and shortly thereafter we entered into a business venture together that requires frequent travelling." The lie rolled easily off his tongue. Pretending to be someone else was a frequent occurrence when tracking down criminals.

Those eyes, and their previous gleam, lower in disappointment. "Ahh, usual business then unfortunately. Pardon my ardency but I am writer, you see, and I crave a good story. Especially those of adventure." A bold laugh erupts from his chest then before he continues, "And this man here!" He says patting the Doctor on the back, "the stories he's got! HA!" The man bellows again and Sherlock is ever more suspicious of their relationship.

"And who might you be?" Sherlock asks and it has not gone unnoticed by him that the Doctor has been watching this whole exchange with a peculiar grin and bated excitement.

"Arthur Conan Doyle, Sir. I am a writer of adventure and mystery!"

"And what are you working on that moment – anything I might have heard of?" Sherlock sees the Doctors grin grow wider and he grows more suspicious.

"The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, a man who solves crimes using -"

"Deduction and observation." Sherlock finishes for him in a droning voice while casting an irritated look at his friend.

"Yes, Yes! So you have hear d of it?" Mr.. Doyle asks.

"In a manner." Sherlock replies curtly and grabs the coat collar of the Doctors and pulls him towards the hall, "We'll be back shortly." Sherlock calls to the man as the make their way out of the room.

"What?!" The Doctor stumbles after him, a hint of laughter lightens his speech.

"Explain." Sherlock commands as they find themselves in a vacant room a couple doors down from the party.

"This is… well I consider it to be the Earth. The proper one, and here there is a famous author from the twentieth century who wrote stories of a man named Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr. John Watson and how they solve crimes together. Sherlock Holmes is intelligent and able to deduce and observe in a way that he is able to capture almost any criminal and solve any mystery." He pauses as if remembering something, "Oh aaannndd…. In the year two-thousand and ten, there is a British television series where YOU play this great Sherlock Holmes' character." The Doctor is now smiling broadly.

"I'm an actor?!" Is all Sherlock can manage to say.

"Yes actually. A good one if that helps. Anyway I discovered some time ago that there was a parallel earth where you were real! You were the real Sherlock Holmes. That was when I realized I had to meet you." The Doctor confesses and his great smile diminishes then, in realizing that he has made himself come off as a bit of a stalker. The redness creeps into his cheeks and Sherlock glances at him with his head at a slight angle.

"Did you plan on taking me with you?" He asks.

"No…" The Doctor replies. The air has grown warmer and the room seems darker.

"Are you glad you did? I mean, am I living up to your great expectations?" He asks, smirking at the, now quiet, fidgety, Doctor.

"Uhmm.. yes. Definitely. Exceedingly." The Doctor fumbles in his pockets and glances around, avoiding eye contact.

As the Doctor stares at his own feet, the words he asks next are low and nervous, "Do you regret coming?"

Sherlock can't help himself and he places both hands on either side of the Doctor's face, tilting it so he can look in the man's eyes. "For a Time Lord, and someone who is almost a thousand years old, you can be quite thick." He says with kindness instead of his normal irritation when someone is being particularly slow.

"Right. Good then." The Doctor nods his head, still held between Sherlock's hands.

They continue staring at each other and the air becomes heavy, moving through his nose and warming his body. He can feel the sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades. The Doctor swallows visibly but otherwise remains completely still. There is something about to happen. Sherlock should just lean forward. He wants to. He is sick of missed opportunities and he doesn't need powers of deduction to tell him why the Doctor hasn't moved. The man's muscles are tense in anticipation of what's to come.

It is then, of course, that a scream rips through the house and Sherlock drops his hands, startled by the irritated intrusion of the moment.

They share a look before racing out back to the room full of people. The group of twenty or so is huddled around a woman who is gesturing wildly. The writer, Doyle, is beside her, a hand under her elbow and another grasping her outstretched palm, while her other arm flails about.

"…it's gone I tell you! I can't fathom how. One minute it was secured around my neck and the next it disappeared. It did not fall, Charlie." She says angrily to the man with a great beard in front of her.

"But Madame, it is impossible for the necklace to have disappeared entirely. It is obvious that it must have come loose and detached." Charlie counters.

Sherlock and the Doctor make their way through the small crowd and the Doctor gains the womans attention immediately.

"Hi there. Can you tell me what exactly you lost?" He asks, bringing his palms together and its clear he is hoping for something amiss and whether he is looking for a distraction form Sherlock or simply enjoys a good adventure he isn't sure, but he knits his brows together as he watches his new friend's excitement grow at the prospect.

"My diamond necklace. It was a gift from my husband at our wedding. It is worth some fortune." She replies and her face is pallid with worry.

"Did you see anything at all?" The Doctor begins his questioning and after a good ten minutes he turns around and pinches his lower lip with his fingers in concentration.

"I just don't get it… nothing. I can't think of what it might be."

"Please stop that." Sherlock mutters, surprising himself. He knew the Doctor's fiddle-some movements were drawing attention to a desirable spot, and it was irritating him, but he never expected to blurt it out. God, wasn't he ever becoming disturbingly affected by physical titillations. Soon he would be reduced to the behaviours of a hormone-ridden teenager.

"What?" The Doctor's eyes drift down following Sherlock's glance to the mans now puffy lower lip. "Oh, uhhh sorry." He says embarrassingly.

"Anyhow. You don't need to think on it further. I am already aware of what is happening. How or by whom though I have yet to determine." He states to the Doctor whose eyes are wide in surprise.

"But how? I... You were just... Never mind. What do you know?" He asks in defeat.

"Firstly, please check your left breast pocket. You are missing something rather, and if I may say, disturbingly, dear to you." He watches the Doctor impatiently. A startled gasp escapes his inviting mouth.

"Nooooo! Oh, whoever did this is going to be really, really sorry!" The doctor whines at the loss of his precious sonic and Sherlock smiles in amusement.

"That's not all. I believe your friend had brought along pages of his story to read tonight and those are also missing. Though he also has not realized it. As well, and this is rather alarming, have you not noticed that the large painting on the east wall has completely disappeared?" The doctor spins around and sees the blank wall between two very tall windows.

"The Renardo! A-ha!" He claps his hands and rubs them together in excitement and cognizance.

"You are brilliant Sherlock! I knew I brought you along for a reason." He smiles warmly at Sherlock before turning back to the group.

"Now… has anyone else lost something of importance?" He asks and people immediately begin checking their pockets. Mr. Doyle becomes frantic at the loss of many pages of work on his story and Sherlock can't help but chuckle at that.

After some conversations with the group and a better understanding of what has gone missing, the Doctor turns to face Sherlock with a puzzled expression.

"Well… I know whose doing this, buuut… I'm not quite sure how to find them." He rubs his face in frustration and scrunches his features in thought.

"Shouldn't we look for the type of museum that would want important items from history?" Sherlock asks, as they both are now aware that the thief is not just any common thief but a procurer. Someone who is traveling across solar systems and various worlds to secure such important items from history as the painting, the diamonds, the sonic, and appallingly… the works about the Great Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock snorts at that.

"Oh there are plenty. Although… a sonic on its own is nothing important but a sonic coming from me… well that is a little something .." His voice trails off and begins jogging back towards the front of the house. Sherlock follows along as they head back towards the Tardis.

As they make their way back down the street, Sherlock suddenly feels intense pressure surrounding his body. Gravity is squeezing him tight and constricting his lungs and he looks up to see a resigned expression on the Doctors face. Clearly he knows what is coming.

In the blink of an eye, Sherlock is suddenly encased in a large glass room. The Doctor is beside him with his hands in his pockets staring doggedly at something behind him. Sherlock spins around to see a man in a peculiar suit of plaid with a red silk tie.

"I take it, you are the reason I have lost my sonic screwdriver?" The Doctor asks; pacing the room while watching his captor.

"The Doctor's Sonic. Of course we have it. It's not the most interesting piece in our inventory but it is popular. I was against the order to retrieve that item, you know? I despise you and your presence throughout history. You are a scar on the universe and do not deserve to be remembered in any museum… anywhere. Unfortunately for me, my supervisors disagree." The man glares at the Doctor with disdain.

Sherlock scoffs at the man across the glass. "Such a petty little man. You are just a simple employee which begs the question of why we are in this box?" He asks, mostly to himself. "You dislike the good Doctor here, you know who I am of course, as you are clearly very familiar with histories of not just one world, but many. You are obviously acting of your own volition, judging by the flittering of your eyeballs like a child in over their head. But you are eager… hmm. Doctor - please tell me, how important to history would you say you are?" Sherlock asks suggestively.

"Ohhh.. very important. Well-known too, actually." The Doctor goes along with the shamble.

"So then, it would be fair to say that you are possibly one of the most valuable items for procurement?" Sherlock maintains eye contact with their captor while speaking.

"Indeed." The Doctor confirms.

"Well then, I believe this lowly museum worker has garnered a method to get himself a promotion. Is that true, then?" Sherlock cocks his head to the side while watching the man intently.

"Do you have any idea what that man is worth?! You think I just want a promotion?! I could sell this man to the highest bidder and I would be rich enough to buy a solar system and sustain my own life for millenia!" He cries in exultation.

"Has the posting already gone out?" the Doctor smiles at their captor and Sherlock loves the looks of complete arrogance. Trapped in a glass box and does not flinch for a second. The man is fantastic.

"Yes, lots of people interested too." The procurer boasts.

"Oh.. You really shouldn't have done that." the Doctor says smiling and coming to stand beside Sherlock.

"You see," he continues, "I may have enemies, but I have also made a lot of friends and one in particular I believe will be here momentarily. You took my sonic but forgetting the psychic paper, rookie mistake." The Doctor tsk's and pulls out the black flip case and opens it to the white page, which now has a few words scribbled on it. "Just a message from a friend that says 'Be there in five, Doctor.'."

"I have powerful friends, you know?" the Doctor steps right up to the glass and Sherlock joins him. They both size up their captor and smile in unison. The door at the far end of the room where the procurer is standing busts open and a tall, very handsome man walks through leading a group of five people, guns in hand.

"Really, Jack? Is the gun necessary?" The Doctor complains but smiles as the group secures the, now cursing man, in front of them.

"Oh c'mon Doctor, we both know you like my gun." The man named Jack winks at the Doctor as he presses some buttons on a silver remote and the glass cage magically disappears.

The Doctor looks embarrassed and as he looks up at Sherlock to gather his reaction, his eyes widen in shock. Sherlock is aware that he is glaring at this Jack guy. He immediately hates him.

"Whoa… why the evil face? - I am here to save you two, remember?" Jack nods in Sherlock's direction and Sherlock just stares back.

"Uhh… Jack, this is my friend Sherlock. He's uhh… travelling with me." The Doctor says, looking between the two and seeming very uncomfortable.

"Sherlock?! You don't say!… Wow. Nice to meet you, buddy." His hand is grasped by Jack in a handshake, and then the handsome man leans in close to him and whispers, "if you ever need a Doctor Watson, I would be more than happy to fill that role." He pulls back enough to smile devilishly an inch from Sherlock's face, whose mouth has now dropped open.

He glances beside himself at the Doctor, who looks positively mad which Sherlock enjoys immensely. Jack sees it too and then pauses a moment before really looking between the two of them.

"Doctor? Really?!" Jack is grinning ear to ear.

"Oh, can we just get out of here already?" The Doctor begins walking out, leaving the rest of the group to deal with the procurer.

"Don't worry, he'll come around." Jack assures him. Well… perhaps this Jack guy isn't so bad after all. "But if he doesn't….. I am ready and willing to take his place too, or perhaps you only have a penchant for Doctors?" The man wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and Sherlock absolutely refuses to answer that one, especially since it appears to be true. Well... what do you know? Sherlock has a type. He finds this immensely intriguing.

They follow the Doctor then and head back to the Tardis. Once on board, Jack remains and Sherlock can tell the man is now feeling uncomfortable. The Doctor has barely said one word to him for the last twenty minutes, and has not set course for anywhere either.

"Well… I guess I'll head back to Torchwood then." Jack looks to the Doctor, who nods. Jack sighs and walks over to the Doctor. Sherlock watches him lean in and whisper something to the Doctor, he can tell it isn't flirtatious, but its something. Afterwards, Jack says goodbye to Sherlock and leaves.

"What did he say to you?" Sherlock asks.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

The Doctor glares at him in irritation.

"Did you get your sonic back?" Sherlock asks absently.

"Yes… all other items were returned, thanks to Torchwood." He replies.

Sherlock walks over and stands directly in front of the Doctor, who once again, refuses to look him in the eye. Sherlock grabs his chin and tilts his head up, "you can be such a child, you know that?" He chides. "Now… have you slept with him?" Sherlock can't help but ask.

"What?! No! Nooooo." The Doctor is clearly surprised and immediately against the implication. Good.

"Precisely what I wanted to hear." Sherlock finds himself saying, and the admission is very revealing.

"Uhh…" The Doctor is at a loss for words.

Sherlock maintains his grasp on the Doctors chin and moves his body closer to within an inch of Time Lord. The Doctor inhales sharply and stands straighter, his eyes looking off somewhere else. Sherlock moves his hand to caress the side of the Doctors neck, his thumb rubbing along the jaw.

When the Doctors eyes focus on him, it is only then that Sherlock leans and captures the mans lips with his own. The Doctor freezes for a moment before relaxing and opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. The second Sherlock's tongue makes contact with the Doctors, his body becomes rigid with arousal. He has been captivated by this man since he got to know him. The kiss is exquisite. Teasing and slow. Their lips moving perfectly together. Tongues, sliding in and out of each others mouths, and stroking against one another. Sherlock nips at the mans lower lip playfully and the Doctor lets out a moan into his mouth that startles them both and they frantically grab for each other, pulling close together so that their bodies are touching.

Sherlock breaks the kiss to move his lips along that jaw, and down the pale neck; biting, nipping and licking his way down.

The Doctor is breathing heavy now and his hands have come to grip Sherlock's waist.

"Wai- Hmmmm… Sherlock." The Doctor voice is rough and low. He is trying to protest but Sherlock grunts in refusal and sucks hard at the base of the Doctors throat, who then pulls Sherlock sharply against himself; their groins making full contact causing them both to moan loudly.

Sherlock is suddenly pushed away and his eyes are burning with irritation. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asks in obvious annoyance.

"I .." The Doctor pauses trying to catch his breath, "I'm not any good at relationships. In fact, I tend to avoid them completely. I just …. don't know if this is a good idea." He confesses.

"Just answer one question, and really this is just for show because I know the answer, but do you want me?" Sherlock smolders at him.

The Doctor glances down at the bulge in his pants and glances back up in Sherlock, his eyebrows raised. "Clearly." he admits.

Sherlock lunges at him then, grabbing his face and pulling their mouths together, forcing his tongue inside. He pulls back after only a couple of seconds and his eyes are blazing as he looks deeply at the Time Lord, "then shut up already and let's enjoy ourselves."

The Doctor is a lit with sensation. His body is warm, the air seems thick, and all he can smell is Sherlock. His breath, his hair, the subtle scent of some expensive cologne that blends perfectly with his own natural aroma. His mouth tastes amazing and so the Doctor decides to let go. He can worry about the consequences of a a relationship at a later time, for now, he will let this happen because it is what he truly wants in that moment. This man is magnificent. He is unlike any other person the Doctor has ever met; commanding, arrogant, clever, and, surprisingly, affectionate. The combination is impossible to deny.

As their hands begin roaming. the Doctor steels his resolve and boldly begins pulling at the hem of the grey sweater he'd requested Sherlock wear. He can feel Sherlock smile against his mouth before he pulls away to allow the Doctor to pull the sweater over his head.

Seeing Sherlock in a clean white t-shirt and soft blue jeans, the Doctor gets antsy for things to progress. This man exudes sex and the Doctor is impatient to experience some of that. He runs a hand down the detective's long arm, and laces his fingers with Sherlock's. He kisses him sweetly before pulling away and leading them down the hall to his room for a night, and hopefully a day as well, that they'll both remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! Thanks :) As I said, I didn't have time to really review for issues so please let me know if the writing was really bad or if I messed up tenses at all. Thanks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is going to be the last chapter for this story. Chapter contains graphic M/M sex. You have been forewarned.

As they cross the threshold of the Doctor's private bedroom, his insides turn to jelly. Sherlock's hand feels hot in his palm. It has been...oh…. centuries since he's done this. And even longer than that since he's done anything with a man. It's not that he doesn't remember, and it's not that his body can't handle it, he's just… nervous. Worried that such a great man as Sherlock won't find him enough.

He turns and faces Sherlock, pulling the man towards himself and encircling his arms around the tall man's waist.

"Stop worrying…" Sherlock whispers in his ear. The breath moving across such a sensitive spot sends shivers running all over his skin. Sherlock wraps his arms around the Doctor's upper body, palming the back of his head, and descends down to resume the kiss.

With their bodies twisting and moving together and open mouths licking and nipping, the Doctor couldn't tell you where they even were.

He slides his hand under the hem of the t-shirt and runs it up the skin on Sherlock's back - soft, warm and hard with lean muscle underneath. He finds himself scratching and clawing at it. Sherlock is manoeuvring them back towards the bed and so the Doctor tugs the shirt up, pulling back from the kiss to smile at Sherlock and gesture for him to lift his arms. The shirt is off and he immediately locks his lips on a tight nipple, flicking it with his tongue and sucking the bud into his mouth. Sherlock bucks his hips at the sensation and loses patience, gripping him by the shoulders to straighten him enough so that he can begin taking off the fancy purple shirt. The Doctor lends a hand and within moments the shirt and undershirt are gone.

They both pause a moment to stare before the moment snaps and they are each reaching for the buttons and zippers and belts of their jeans and trousers. The Doctor had planned on only pulling down Sherlock's jeans, and leaving his pants - if only to prolong the inevitable, but of course, Sherlock is impatient, and pulls his trousers and pants down in one swift motion, leaving him completely naked. Sherlock smiles in triumph, like it was a race and the Doctor can't help but laugh. He steps out the remainder of his clothes and quietly sheds Sherlock of the rest of his clothes.

They come flush against one another, each letting out a small noise of satisfaction. Sherlock's hands grip his hips and push him towards the bed. He falls onto his back, bouncing form the mattress and slides back to a better position while Sherlock crawls over him. The man's grin is predatory and the Doctor matches the grin full-on. When he feels the weight of Sherlock's body upon him, and the skin on the skin, the patience flies out the window.

He spreads his legs, allowing Sherlock's lower body to rest between them - the perfect place for him to be. He pulls Sherlock's lips of his throat and brings them to his mouth - kissing him deeply and erotically. His centuries of abstinence are collapsing with a force and his hips begin gyrating up into Sherlock of their own accord.

"Hmm… impatient are we?" Sherlock teases and reaches down to push his legs further apart. His stomach coils in anticipation. It probably could have gone either way, but he loves that Sherlock is taking control.

Sherlock lifts up and straddles his chest, bringing his erection to the Doctor's lips. His mouth seals around the crest and envelops as much of the rigid length as he possibly can. He sucks and licks while Sherlock strains above him - small groans of pleasure vibrate in the air around him and the Doctor moans around the intrusion in his mouth.

"Ahh!" Sherlock cries suddenly, pulling back. He quickly moves himself lower on the bed and holds the Doctor's eyes as he puts a finger into his own mouth, coating it in saliva.

Seconds later, the same finger is tracing a line across the opening to his body and shakes at the sensation. A little more pressure and then Sherlock is fingering him. Plunging in and out while he tries to remember how to breath. It turns out, Sherlock is good at a number of things, which surprises him because from what he'd known of the man, he was about as sexual as the Doctor.

"Why is everyone so surprised?" Sherlock asks suddenly, only mildly offended. "I think people seem to forget that just because I don't do things very often doesn't mean I don't know how!" He twists his finger in emphasis and grazes across the bundle of nerves inside of him. The Doctor shakes and bows on the bed, the subtle feeling is no longer enough and he pushed down on Sherlock to get the point across.

"Well then, please continue to wow me." The Doctor breathes heavily.

With a smirk, the detective removes his hand away to place it on the side of his thigh, pushing it further out. He moves himself in position and the Doctor can feel the blunt head press against him. Oh… god. Maybe he'd been a little too eager, the thought cross his mind as the pressure builds, and a bit of a burn joins in on the feeling.

A hand encloses around his own straining erection and it does exactly what he needed - relaxing him.

Sherlock has beautiful long hands with teasing fingers, he thinks to himself, as the hand caresses and strokes his arousal.

A large puff of air blows out of Sherlock's mouth and the Doctor feel's the head of him push in past the opening.

Sherlock pauses only seconds before beginning a slow back and forth when suddenly he pushes all the way in.

They both cry out in ecstasy. The Doctor tightens involuntarily and a hand grips his hips to hold them both still.

"Oh god that feels good…" Sherlock's voice is rough and sexed.

He leans down and captures the Doctor's lips, resuming a heated kiss while he begins to move inside of him. The Doctor can't hold back the moan that escapes into the detectives mouth as the man begins to move inside of him.

The pace increases. Sherlock's hips slamming against him at each thrust with barely a second between. The Doctor's eyelids are fluttering wildly and his body is pushing against Sherlock at each awesome intrusion into him.

The intensity decreases only slightly when Sherlock bends down again to kiss him more. The kissing becomes obscene and dirty and Sherlock slows his hips to a patient tempo that builds an agonizing ache inside of him.

"Oh Sherlock… I'm close.." He says between their open mouths.

"Ughhh…" Is the only response as Sherlock slides a hand between their bodies to grab him and stroke with precision, extending a finger on the down stroke to tease his sac. The combination has him shaking and straining with his impending orgasm.

"Yes.. Doctor… Oh god, yes… just let go." Sherlock coaches him and his grip tightens as his thrusts roughen.

The Doctor's orgasm explodes out of him, bursts of pleasure and throbbing and aching racks his body and he erratically thrusts into Sherlock's palm and tightens around the, now pulsing, erection inside of him. Their moans are guttural as their orgasms careen through their bodies. He can feel the warmth and wetness of Sherlock's release inside of him and the warmth and stickiness between their bodies from his own.

He continues moving his body against Sherlock's and slides his tongue into the man's mouth, riding out the glorious sensation for as long as possible.

He feels Sherlock pull out of him and a sad sound escapes his mouth on reflex, to which Sherlock chuckles tiredly beside him.

"Don't worry…. I've got more stamina than your average human."

"Good… you'll need it." The Doctor smiles mischievously and climbs on top of Sherlock, his own palm encircling his thick arousal, ready to go again.

Sherlock's eyes widen in surprise. "Already?"

"Do you mind?" The Doctor asks, his previous shyness and nervous emotions building within him as he pushes Sherlock's knee up to convey his desires.

"Ohh… yes. Definitely." Sherlock's eyes darken again with arousal.

Several hours later, they are sated and limp and sprawled across the bed. The sheets are on the floor, along with the pillows and the comforter. Sherlock's body is angled with his head at the end corner of the bed, and his feet towards the top. The Doctor's head is resting on his lower abdomen, the man's thighs stretched beside his head, as they bend off the end of the mattress.

"I think I might need to regenerate.." The Doctor teases, his voice slurring with exhaustion.

"How long has it been?" Sherlock asks.

"God Sherlock, it's only been forty-eight seconds." He cries, thinking that Sherlock is gearing up for another round. Instead Sherlock laughs.

"Noo.. no. I mean, since before me. How long?"

"Uuhmm.. three hundred and forty-nine years… or so." He was so guilty about that one. Madame de Pompadour. "You?" He adds.

"Six years." They erupt in laughter at how crazy it all sounds.

"I think we should shower before we lose the ability to move." Sherlock makes a good point and the Doctor tries to lift his head off of Sherlock, but it feels so damn heavy.

"Ughh.. can't I just stay here?" He says stubbornly.

Sherlock pushes him off and into a sitting position.

Once in the shower, they sigh in unison and the wonderful feeling of the hot water running over them.

The Doctor hasn't been this happy in, who knows how long! What he had been afraid of this whole time - he didn't know. Weelllll… that's not true, he thinks, as he watches Sherlock sliding under the covers of a newly made bed. The man is a human… a small blip along his own lifeline, and not just that, but an incredibly fragile blip. His previous hesitations and personal torments have frozen his limbs and he can't seem to move from his stance by the bathroom door.

As if reading his mind, Sherlock pulls into a sitting position on the bed.

"Seriously Doctor - stop being so bloody ridiculous. All relationships are doomed, don't you get it? People leave or people die, and someone is always left behind. The timing of it doesn't make a damn difference. But if you are going to be a coward about it then I'll leave right now." He spoke with a sharp irritated tone, as if he was speaking to a rude parking attendant.

"I… uhh." He blabbers, not sure what to say in response.

"Would you get in the damn bed already?" Sherlock rips the blankets back in frustration and glares at him.

"Yes.. sorry." He crosses the room and gets in, laying on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He knows that Sherlock is mostly right but he can't shake the feeling that he hurts everyone he's ever cared about.

A kiss on the cheek pulls him back from his thoughts and he tilts his head to look at the intelligent man beside him.

"I get your dilemma. You live longer and obviously are always on the receiving end of a loss, but pushing people away is not going to lessen the pain when they're gone, you will only feel regret…" He pauses and looks away from him. "Trust me."

The look on Sherlock's face stings because the Doctor knows exactly who the man is thinking about and it is definitely not him.

"Would you rather I were him?" He can't help torturing himself.

"No." His gaze returns. "That is in the past, and this," he says gesturing between them, "is my future. Unless you plan on continuing to be a child about the whole thing."

The Doctor is terrified of the future but knows that he owes it to himself, and to Sherlock, to at least give it a shot. And if all hell breaks loose…. well he just hopes he won't destroy the world out of anguish.

"Yes.. okay." He pushes himself closer to his clever man and kisses him in apology.

For now, things are happy. For now, there is no threat to his happiness. No threat to the level of peace that he has found. He prays that time is not cruel to him.

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading!


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